I reach up high to catch the brightest star
yet seize instead, a cold and lifeless moon.
I stretch to aim higher but snatch too soon,
ambition too lofty, I fear too far.
An aperture appears, my minds ajar,
a peek within reveals an aging room;
cobweb hung with fusty ideas strewn
across a wide cerebration, to mar
every attempt at creativity.
My puny wit is pit against the best
in vain and vanity, in truth I strive;
at times able to achieve irony.
Recollections attained with childlike zest,
yet above all, pride, remains alive.